


Necessity

by yoshizora



Category: Berserk (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Non-Sexual Intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29140524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshizora/pseuds/yoshizora
Summary: Casca, Farnese, and the comfort of their familiar routines.
Relationships: Casca & Farnese de Vandimion
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Necessity

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't meant to be romantic/shippy, but i don't mind if anyone wants to interpret it that way. idk! i just wanted to wax poetic about Farnese, she's my favorite character

“Hey, Farnese. Will you…?” Casca asks, the rest of the question left hanging on the tip of her tongue, but understood all the same. 

Gone is the vulnerable shell, those oblivious stares, heavy cracks like cobwebs and mire swept away. Casca has eyes like a fox: clever, sharp, fearful. Yet Elaine is still there, in the way her shoulders are a bit bunched up and the way she doesn’t seem to know how to carry herself. For a moment, Farnese simply stares at her, hands paused over the crushed herbs she’d been mixing into something medicinal. In reality, it’s just tea meant to aid restful sleep. 

Farnese stands up too quickly. Her head spins and she leans the heels of her palms against the rickety little table to steady herself. “—Of course. Yes, of course. I’ll be there in a moment, Miss Casca.” 

Casca doesn’t move. She waits there in the doorway and watches Farnese put the herbs away. Only then does she tread down the narrow hallway to the washroom, making sure Farnese is diligently following right behind her.

There’s one small window meant to let out the steam that rises from the wide wooden tub set into the floor, already filled to the brim with hot water. Did Casca fill the bath herself, or was it the work of their magic hosts? Farnese idly runs her fingers down some trailing ivy; it truly feels like they’re inside a tree, rather than a cottage. Quaint wooden carvings and furniture occupy any available space on both the walls and floor that haven’t been filled with plant life. If it weren’t for the vivid warmth, the washroom would be claustrophobic. 

“Sorry for being a bother,” Casca lightly says as she strips down. “There isn’t really anyone else I would ask.”

“Not at all! I’m glad I could be of some use,” Farnese answers with haste, wringing her hands together before realizing she should undress as well, lest she stand there gawking like an idiot. It’s… strange, to see Casca moving with such deliberation and grace. The Casca she knew couldn’t even tie her bootlaces. 

To say it hasn’t been awkward would be a lie. 

Casca knows her. The bond they had forged through their journey hasn’t budged one bit, at her insistence. She remembers everything through that thick haze, and Farnese would never presume to mistake her for anyone else. Casca has always been Casca. She was just… missing some pieces. Witnessing the person she used to be in that hellish dreamscape did help Farnese understand things, and her. 

Casca, brandishing a sword. Casca, leading men into war. Casca, pouring her heart out to Guts and embracing him. 

Something in Farnese’s chest tightens. She keeps her back turned as she slowly pulls off the rest of her clothes. Behind her, she can hear the water stirring and Casca sighing aloud. 

They’re both quiet now. Farnese would usually talk to fill in the silence while Casca babbled, whenever they bathed together.

Farnese finally enters the water, carefully sitting at the other side of the tub and pulling her knees up. The water is nearly scalding, but doesn’t burn, and now she notices that some flower petals had been scattered along the surface. They bob back and forth from the water’s gentle movements. She finds herself watching them, mesmerized. 

Then, they’re swept aside as Casca suddenly moves to sit right beside her, shoulder to shoulder. 

“Miss Casca?” Farnese startles, but doesn’t pull away. 

“Am I being strange?” Casca nervously laughs, staring straight ahead. Farnese grips her hand by instinct beneath the water. “I don’t know how to put it in words. It’s like there’s something… this shadow, just out of my line of vision no matter where I look. It’s been like that ever since I woke up. I know it’s not real, but…” 

Farnese thinks of that dark, ominous bird at the end of her dream. She tries to pat Casca’s arm reassuringly, squeezing her hand for good measure. “You mustn’t rush your recovery. Miss Danan said you should go at your own pace.”

“Yeah, but it goes away when I’m with you. You protected me, Farnese. I’ll never forget that. That’s why I always feel safe when you’re with me.” 

“That’s scarcely true,” Farnese says, eyes wide. She can still hardly believe it, that she’s able to hold a proper conversation with Casca at last. She’d never even given much thought about what she would say to her, and now her tongue feels thick in her mouth. “I-I was not the only one who fought for your sake. Everyone did! Serpico, Schierke, Isidro, and…” 

_Guts, standing apart from the others, a frightening silhouette of jagged black armor and shrouded in the stench of death—_

Casca gasps, hunching over and grasping at her chest like there’s something just beneath her skin. Farnese cries out and grasps her by the shoulders, splashing water over the both of them, but unlike before, Casca’s wide-eyed stare remains focused. She doesn’t slip away this time. Her scream dies in the back of her throat with a choked sound, fingernails digging into her own skin so hard that Farnese is afraid she might draw blood.

Farnese can see glimpses of the broken doll in that split moment. 

“… I’m fine, I’m fine,” Casca hoarsely says, allowing Farnese to help steady her as she leans back against the side of the tub. Her hand relaxes and slides down to rest at her side, limp. She’s shaking. Her entire body is trembling, disturbing the water and agitating the flower petals. Droplets slide along the length of her neck, indistinguishable from sweat. She even has gooseflesh despite how warm and humid the room is.

How can she be fine like this? Is this how it will be from now on, watching her carry on as if nothing is wrong until she clings to Farnese, nearly shattered all over again by visions of atrocious beasts? 

“Ugh…” Casca wipes at her eyes with her wrist. “I’m pathetic, aren’t I? I can’t even take a bath without panicking.” 

“You’re _not_ —“ Farnese doesn’t know what to say. She never had to say anything before, she only had to take Casca in her arms and hold her, making comforting noises until she settled down. That was so easy compared for her current need for words. 

She can’t tell Casca that she had seen _everything_ , from her glory days as a commander to that nightmarish spectacle of Apostles. No one could have emerged from such an experience without lasting wounds, though. 

Those fears of loneliness, of faith, of insignificance and people being burned alive at the stake— once more, Farnese is reminded of how small she truly is. Her own experiences are dwarfed by the scope of horrors Casca had faced. But this is no longer about her. The woman curled up against her is shivering like they’re sitting in ice instead of a hot bath, eyes glassy with memories she’s not yet ready to face. 

It truly pains her to see Casca like this. 

Perhaps they’re both broken in their own unique ways. 

“You said you would cling to me, but…” Farnese swallows. Carefully, gently, she wraps her arms around Casca just like she’d always done. “I think, I’ve always been the one clinging to you, Miss Casca.” 

Casca leans her face against Farnese’s shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut and taking a deep, shuddering breath. 

“Without you, I would never have been able to realize what I could do. I thought I had no worth as a traveling companion. ” Farnese runs the pad of her thumb along a thin scar that wraps across Casca’s upper arm. She’d seen it many times before when washing Casca, but now she takes the time to look it over. Who had managed to cut Casca deep enough to leave a scar? Did she kill the man who did it? She’d been through… so much, far more than Farnese could ever hope to imagine. 

While Casca fought enemies on the battlefield and earned her station as a commander, Farnese acted as a zealous figurehead for the Holy Iron Chain Knights. The gap between them is staggering. She feels the thrum of that old guilt she had tried to bury when she disavowed the Holy See and chose to follow Guts. It was never actually buried. At best, she had kicked some dirt over it so it was less noticeable. 

Farnese lays her cheek atop the crown of Casca’s head. She smells like dirt and sweat, intermingling with the sweet scent from the flower petals.

“You were my atonement.”

She’s warm, her body heat absolutely radiating even in the steam of the bath. Casca finally relaxes and rests all but her whole weight against Farnese, just like she used to during their travels. 

“Every time I think about… _them_ , I see that darkness creeping in the corners of my vision,” Casca says, eyes still closed. “It’s easier to think about the days I spent as Elaine. I sort of remember visiting your home, Farnese. You really are silver spoon, aren’t you?” 

It feels like everything in Vritannis had happened years ago. Farnese wonders how her mother is doing. “I- I only thought I could use my leverage as a Vandimion to secure a ship for us.”

“Hey, it worked,” Casca murmurs. “We’re here now because of you.” 

“I just happened to be born into a wealthy family…” 

“No point in being a noble if you can’t do whatever you want, right?” Casca scoffs, but her voice is warm and she’s still cuddled up against Farnese, so surely she isn’t being scornful. “You know, if we’d met just a few years ago, I would have absolutely hated you.”

“A-Ah…”

“Oh— I’m sorry, Farnese! I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, I understand. I was not… a pleasant person at all.” Farnese softly laughs, though her voice slightly shakes in spite of herself. Casca tilts her head up to look at her, rubbing her palm reassuringly, but it only comforts a little. She had never seen the person Farnese used to be, when she would dance around the pyres like a woman possessed. “I was cruel and ignorant, standing on deluded ceremony. You would have had every right to hate me.”

“Then I’m glad we met the way we did, witch trials and all.”

Farnese hums in uneasy agreement and resumes tracing Casca’s scars. Casca swings her legs over to lay across her thighs, the weight comforting beneath the water, pulled in as close as she can while leaving room to breathe. It’s difficult to see every scar like this, but Farnese positions themselves so that she can peer down the curve of her back. 

Her back is pristine. Not a single blemish. Farnese splays her fingers between her shoulderblades, marveling at the firm muscles. Her own body, in comparison, is lean and not at all suited for swinging a sword the way Casca does. Would it be tactless to consider their circumstances fortunate, that they have been able to meet each other with Guts standing over them with his watchful eye? If Casca the mercenary were to meet Farnese de Vandimion of the Holy Iron Chain Knights, they would have never been able to stand together. To sit together. To eat together, to bathe together, to take solace in each other’s company. 

They might have even tried to kill each other.

Even the most overwrought journeys have some glimmer of silver lined within them, she supposes. Eventually, Casca unlatches herself from Farnese and they scrub each other’s hair and backs with the soaps that had been left for them to use. Farnese had never thought she would yearn for the company of another woman like this. Friendship was not something that ever came up in her prayers, and her duty to the Holy See preceded any other personal desires Farnese had. 

And what she did have was a lust for blood and fire. 

Serpico was her only companion she felt any affection for, but she had always been keenly aware of the wall kept between them by their stations in life. She could never lay bare before him like she does so comfortably with Casca. His companionship was one of love and hate and sworn loyalty. They could never return to those days they spent as children, not when Farnese had handed him the torch that would burn his own mother to death. 

With Casca, it’s different. There is no hate. No fire. No twisted love and no lashings, only someone to protect throughout those terrifying nights. Protecting someone even more helpless than herself had been a violent awakening. _Atonement_. She nearly wants to cry when she thinks of what she had done to Serpico, her poor Serpico, but she’s shaken back to the present when Casca nudges her and says they should get out of the water now.

So they do. They find some soft towels they hadn’t noticed before and dry each other off. Farnese rubs the towel against Casca’s hair and she laughs— it’s much easier to tame now that it’s been cut short. 

“I’ve never actually grown my hair that long before,” Casca says. “I didn’t have the patience to brush and clean my hair properly as a mercenary.” 

Farnese is careful not to say anything that might trigger another memory. “I might miss brushing your hair for you, though.”

“It did feel nice. I remember that much.”

They finally get out of that almost-claustrophobic washroom with all its hanging plants and flower petals. The steam follows their feet as they pad down the hallway, nearly exuberant in the way they rush to get back to their room before the cold catches up. 

Without even thinking, Farnese moves to help Casca get dressed. She’d sometimes put her shirt on backwards, or get her arms stuck in the sleeves. Realizing what she’d been about to do, she stops in her tracks with her hands reaching for her, but Casca seems to understand. 

“Don’t be embarrassed. I remember those parts, too.”

“Some old habits will be hard to break, I suppose…” Farnese says with some shame, allowing her hands to swing back down to her sides. She _liked_ helping Casca with small tasks like that. She knows it would be selfish to say she had gotten some enjoyment out of it, but that would be the truth. Oh, she really is such a disgusting person, maybe it would be better if—

“I’ll return the favor, if you’ll let me,” Casca says. She laughs and scratches her cheek with one finger. 

So she does. She allows Casca to pull her nightgown down over her head and adjust the sleeves over her shoulders, smoothing down the gossamer fabric. It isn’t about give-and-take, she knows better than to call it that. It’s… a need for familiar comforts. They both need it.

They’ve each been provided their own bed, but they squeeze together beneath one blanket. Her skin is still warm from the bath. Farnese drapes an arm over Casca’s waist and wonders, if this would be enough for now. 

After all, Guts is still…

“Will you be alright, Miss Casca?” Farnese whispers, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “I’ll do whatever I can to help you. I swear it.”

“Being here for me is more than enough.” Casca stifles a yawn and curls in close against her, like a cat. “One day at a time, right…?”

Eventually, they drift to sleep. Neither of them have any dreams nor nightmares that night.


End file.
